


Lover of the light

by l_cloudy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Gen, Pre-Canon, Tourney at Harrenhal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 16:12:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1434646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/l_cloudy/pseuds/l_cloudy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Spring had come, or so they thought...</em><br/>Ashara and Brandon and a tourney, a whirlwind romance and the Knights of Summer; and everything that came after.<br/>Not quite a love story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lover of the light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leapylion3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leapylion3/gifts).



> Thanks to the lovely [Elizabeth_Blossom](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabeth_Blossom/pseuds/Elizabeth_Blossom) for beta-reading and being super-fast and awesome about it (unlike me). Title [from Mumford and Sons](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nMJUbZrNnA8).  
> I can't believe I wrote something that's canon-compliant. Weird.

_And in the middle of the night  
I may watch you go_

* * *

 

**now**

The body lies on the floor, discarded, like a broken thing, and Ashara cannot quite bring herself to look at it.  _Him_.

Still, she finds she cannot stay away, either.

"My lady," Ser Barristan begins, but they both know that he was never able to deny her a thing.

"Ser," Ashara hears herself say, her own voice sounding so distant.  _Like in a dream_ ; but the air smells of ashes and burn flesh, and she knows there will be no waking up this time. "Let me pass."

"This is not a sight for a lady's eyes," Ser Barristan tells her, and Ashara wants to laugh. She has seen Elia's birthing chambers and the aftermaths of Oberyn's duels, nursed wounds with her father's septas; and here comes this white knight to shield her delicate eyes from the ugliness of life. Ser Barristan speaks in polite lies and practiced sentences, like the rest of Aerys's court, and she wonders if he really believes it.

"Let me pass," she repeats, moving him closer, turning her head slightly so that the light shines through her hairs, hits her eyes at just the right angle. She knows how she look; warriors have their weapons, and Ashara Dayne has hers.

"His Grace …" the man continues, but she knows she has him.

"The king hasn't said a thing about Brandon Stark's body."

Or it would not be here, forgotten in a corner.  _I will have to call for the Silent Sisters_ , Ashara thinks to herself, as if it was just another one of her duties. It all feels so unreal, and she feels like she might burst in mad laughter, like she has seen Aerys do.  _Brandon is dead_ , she tells herself, over and over again; waiting for reality to sink into her.  _Brandon is dead_.

And she would never see him again.

* * *

 

**then**

It started, like all things did, with a dance.

She had been ten years old and dancing with Oberyn Martell at the Water Gardens when the Lady of Dorne had approached Father, saying that perhaps Ashara might like to remain behind with Elia; and she had been eight-and-ten dancing with her brother in the Great Hall at Sunspear when he'd leaned in closer and told her that Elia would marry the Prince soon.

Ashara Dayne had been two-and-twenty and dancing under the bright silken pavilions at Harrenhall when she'd locked eyes with Brandon Stark's intense grey gaze; and saw him smile.

It started at Harrenhall, with a dance; and one they had not even shared.

He greeted her and bowed and kissed her hand like a proper southorn lord, all with that thick northen drawl she'd never really thought could sound so enticing. He told her she looked especially beautiful that night;  _just as all men say_ , his words had been, and Ashara had almost flushed at that, even though she was far from unused to compliments.

And then, still smiling, he asked her if she could please dance with his brother.

"He is too struck by your beauty to ask you himself," Brandon had said, pointing to the young man sat by Robert Baratheon. Young Eddard Stark looked as though he was desperately trying to look everywhere but in her direction, and Ashara found him terribly endearing.

She went and danced with Eddard Stark - call me Ned, he'd said, almost stuttering. They laughed and japed and Ashara kept count of the times she made him blush; and it was been the most fun she could remember having in months.

And yet she'd been thinking of Brandon the whole time.

* * *

 

**now**

Jaime Lannister is standing by the Iron Throne when Ashara walks in, her steps echoing in the empty room.

She hates everything about that room, from the black dragon skulls to that twisted monstrosity Aerys likes so much. Ashara never comes into the Great Hall if she can help it, and she cannot remember the last time she visited the place. Before Prince Aegon's birth, definitely; months before that. As much as she hated to see Elia as ill as she was, her Princess' sickness gave her an excuse to keep to her apartments.  _But now…_

Ser Jaime is staring into nothingness, same as he's been doing for hours; or so Ashara has heard. With his youthful face and white armour, he looks like a boy playing at being a knight. Ashara would wonder what he has seen, that left him in such a state; but she's heard the screams same as everyone else, and doesn't need to.

Brandon's body looks so ragged, lying there on the floor, with none of the strength he had in life. Eyes closed, she can almost see him, laughing from his saddle, lance in one hand, leading his horse with his strong thighs. He had been handsome, in a rugged way so different from that of the man of the court; but now his face is swollen and purple, leather band still clasped firmly around his neck, and Ashara realizes that she cannot bear to look at him.

Should I be sad? Ashara doesn't quite know. She had been furious the last time they saw each other, only a fortnight before. And theirs had been no romance, nothing like the songs Rhaegar liked so much.

_A we kissed a fortnight ago, and now he's dead._

Dead and broken and forgotten. Lord Rickard's burnt remains were carried out, though Ashara doesn't know where, but the king had lost interest by then and walked away, his retinue with him. The court followed, all still shocked Aerys had dared kill one of his Great Lords, and no one seemed to waste a thought about his heir.

And so Brandon Stark had been left behind, forgotten in death as he had never been in life.

* * *

 

**then**

She had been the one to come to him, first.

Of course, she could have waited. He would have been the one to go to her, had Ashara given him the chance; she could see it on in his face, the way he looked at her and the way he  _didn't_  every time she saw him with his little betrothed. But playing coy was for little girls, and Ashara Dayne had never been afraid of showing what she wanted.

They would talk, people always did; but Ashara had never cared too much of the judgment of strangers.  _You never take anything seriously_ , Arthur had told her once, lips pursed in a thin line when she'd laughed in his face, because didn't his precious Prince Rhaegar do the same? He'd become such a courtier, her brave brother; but Ashara never would.

And so went to Brandon at night, for  _herself_  and not for him; because what Ashara wanted she took, and life was too short for regrets.

He understood that well enough, and she was glad. Brandon was a man of passion, as impetuous as Ashara herself was, with none of the hesitance Eddard had shown. They would never be forever, and he did not seem to mind. Brandon would never claim to love her, like men did so often, making her wonder if they even knew the meaning of the word.

He told her she was beautiful instead, and his kisses tasted like assuredness and northern mead, and it was everything she could ever want.

"I will see you," she offered before departing, almost a whisper but not quite. Brandon smiled at her, the cold light of the dawn playing in his grey eyes as he kissed her one last time.

"Good riddance, my lady," he said; and Ashara walked away wishing that life could always be so simple.

It turned out, life never is.

* * *

 

**now**

In the end, she doesn't cry.

Ashara knows she ought to, for the man he was and for the times they shared, but no tears would come.  _Perhaps I am like they say_ , she thought. The Dornish trickster, playing one man against the other, breaking their hearts.

But she never was anything but honest with Brandon, no matter what they said. No matter what  _he_  said, in the end.

"Lady Ashara?"

She winces and turns, heart beating in her chest; but it's only Ser Jaime, shaken away from his stupor at last.

"Ser," Ashara tells him. "Are you feeling well?"

His skin looks almost grey under the light of the torches; but she can see him blushing as she speaks, ashamed at having his weaknesses noticed by a woman.  _Or angry, perhaps_ , she thinks, hoping with all her heart that he will no go telling the king of their encounter. Aerys's hasn't  _forbidden_  to move Brandon's body, but it is better for Ashara her if he never takes notice of her.  _Especially now…_

"I mean," she amends, wishing she could have Elia's courtly skills, "I heard about… what happened. I doubt I would be still standing, if it had been me."

Flattery seems to work, somewhat. Ser Jaime stands straighter, looking at her in the eyes. "Yes…" he begins, stopping to clear his throat. "Yes. I am well, thank you, my lady. What…" he glances from her, to the empty room. "What are you doing here, Lady Ashara?"

_I wish I knew._

"It's…" she makes a weak gesture with her hand, pointing at Brandon… the body, looking for words. "He was my friend," Ashara finds herself saying, in the end, and she wishes that was true.  _Friends. We could have been_.

Ser Jaime's eyes soften, and he looks so very young. "I understand, my lady," he says. "Perhaps you might go call the Silent Sisters, after Pycelle takes care of…" he makes the same gesture she did, pointing at the contraption Brandon died in. Ashara's eyes follow his gaze, from the iron chains to the sturdy ropes, to the leather collar.

To Brandon's face, taking in the details she tried so hard to ignore before.

His eyes, bulging out from his face, like overripe fruit.

The room spins around her, and all goes black.

* * *

 

**then**

The next time Ashara met Brandon Stark, he came to her; and the romance become tragedy.

"I will only stay in King's Landing for a few days," he explained, apologetic. The celebrations for the birth of the new heir would go on for a fortnight, if not longer, but Brandon was to marry Catelyn Tully in a moon's turn, and had to leave for Riverrun soon.

"How is she?" Ashara asked, curious. "We never met."

Brandon looked surprised at that. Perhaps he'd expected me to be angry, Ashara thought; but she wasn't, not about Catelyn Tully.

"Truth be told," he said, after a while. "I don't quite know yet."

She laughed at that, sorry for the Tully girl and all the lives she would never have; but glad that her own fate had been different. Glad that she could  _choose_. "Brandon…" she began; but then he kissed her.

Ashara let her own lips melt against his, feeling his smile against hers,  _savoring_ ; but they had to talk, and it could not wait.

"Brandon," she began again, and he must have realized how serious she was, because he frowned at her.

"What is it?" he asked; and Ashara made a point of looking staright into his eyes.  _You have nothing to be ashamed of_.

"I am with child," she said; eyes trailed on his the whole time.

There was silence at first, an heavy silence coming between them like wall. Ashara wanted to say more, wanted to  _explain_ ; but it had to wait. She had already said her part, and now would be his turn.

Brandon laughed then, a horrible, forced sound.

"Are you?" he asked, when she did not react. "Truly."

She nodded, and that was it _. Only the fools and the weak speaks too much_ , Elia used to say.  _It makes you look guilty_. And Ashara was neither guilty, nor weak.

His next words hurt her like a dagger to the gut. "And I suppose," Brandon began, slowly. "That you are telling me the child is mine."

There was venom in his words, but she had been expecting that, for all that she'd wished it would not happen. Brandon Stark was a northern, his father a traditional man. He would be scared at first; and a scared man would be angry as well.

"Yes." Ashara nodded again. "I have not decided what to do yet, I…" she paused, looking for the right words. "I wanted to hear from you, first."

She could  _choose_ , the way Catelyn Tully could not. Marry some minor knight who would claim her child, like Elia had promised she could arrange. Give birth to the child and marry Oberyn; Elia had promised that, too, and Ashara liked the Dornish Prince more of any of the men who had ever asked for her hand. Drown the babe with moon tea, her first decision; but she had wanted to wait and see if perhaps Brandon wanted to acknowledge the child.

He laughed again, more bitterly this time. "And what proof do I have, my lady," Brandon said. "That the child you carry is mine as you say?"

It hurt, but she did not let it show. "My word," Ashara spoke coldly, head high. "I'd expect it to be all the proof you need."

It was the wrong thing to say.

"I could use that." Brandon told her, his voice as cold as ice. "The word of a Dornish whore."

She raised her head slowly, eyes meeting his. He looked away.

"Get out," Ashara told him, low enough that she could barely hear her own voice. "Out."

The door closed behind Brandon Stark, and Ashara did not cry.

* * *

 

**now**

She wakes up alone, in a bed that is not her own.

"My lady," a soft voice calls out next to her, and Ashara turns her head to meet the eyes of Ser Barristan Selmy, sat on a chair by her bed.

"Ser," she says, sitting up. She is wearing a nightdress, not the gown she had in the Throne Room.  _What happened?_

"Where am I?" she ask, hesitant; and there is a flash of something in the man's eyes.

"My lady," Ser Barristan looks everywhere but at her, and Ashara feels a nervous all of a sudden.  _Something is wrong. Very, very wrong_. "You are in the visitors' quarters."

"But this doesn't make sense." Her rooms are close to Elia's always have been.  _She needs me_.

"The king gave the order," Ser Barristan continues. "And… you are to leave King's Landing for Dorne the moment you are fit to do so."

"All of this," Ashara asks, ignoring the sinking feeling in her chest. "All of this because I went into the Throne Room?" What about Elia?  _I promised Oberyn I would look after her_.

"All of this," the knight says, his voice heavy. "Because you are with child."

Ashara feels chilled all of a sudden.  _They know. The king knows, everyone knows_. She is disgraced now, soiled in the eyes of the court. The choice she'd taken so much pride in, all was taken away from her. Were she to get rid of the child now, everyone would still know.

 _And a soiled woman is no fit attendant for a Princess_. Oh, Elia…

"Perhaps," Ser Barristan continues, slowly. "You could talk to… to the father? If you were to marry, then…"

Ashara laughs, wishing it were that easy.  _I could lie_ , she thinks.  _I could say it was Oberyn, they would believe me_. The gods knew, it could have been, had she not made sure. But Ashara Dayne was no liar, never had been; and she had done nothing to be ashamed of, no matter what the king said.  _Even for Elia, I cannot lie_.

"That would be of no use, Ser," she says. "He is dead now."

He nods, and she knows he has put the pieces together. "I see," Ser Barristan nods, true regret on his face.  _He is a good man_ , Ashara finds herself deciding then,  _and sweet_. But there was pity in his eyes, and she knows he would never understand that it had been her choice and she had loved it, every minute of it.

 _I am not a victim, ser_ , she wants to say.  _I am a woman_.

But there would be no use in that.

She leaves King's Landing the next morning, leaving the ghost of Brandon Stark behind.


End file.
